Empire's End: Episode 11: Honor and Nobility

  I n the military, they love to teach you about honor. They drive that shit into your head, trying to make you feel like you’re part of something larger than yourself, something noble.

  I was a Marine. Our motto was Semper Fidelis – always faithful. We were the good guys, and we were going out to destroy evil in the world, wherever it dared to raise its ugly head.

  Mostly, I think, this was about getting people to obey orders. When you’re supposed to shoot somebody or charge into a well defended stronghold, your superiors don’t want you trying to decide whether or not that’s a good idea. They want you to act without question. Because we’re the Good Guys. We have honor and courage. If we die, it was a noble sacrifice.

  There’s more to it than that, though. If you aspire to nobility, if you want to act with honor, then you try to do the right thing. Teaching young people to die for their country makes them better people.

  But it’s a slippery slope. It’s easy to convince yourself you’re acting nobly because you’ve got honor. If you become too convinced of your own righteousness, you can tell yourself anything you do is honorable.

  Then you get catastrophes like Grakur. You get massacres. Then no one is noble. They’re all dead.

  Episode 11:

  Honor and Nobility

  S weat beaded on JaQuan’s forehead. His heart pounded. He opened the throttle fully, pushing Cataan’s Claw towards the minimum speed for a hyperspace jump.

  “You know this jump is only going to take about twenty-nine seconds, right?” he said.

  “Yes,” Kitekh replied.

  “You know coming in that close to Korenka is dangerous as all shit, right? That I can’t predict exactly where we’ll re-enter normal space, so we might actually hit the moon or go by it too close to the gravity well, thereby tearing ourselves apart?”

  “Relax, JaQuan,” Kitekh said, her voice irritatingly soothing. “I trust you.”

  JaQuan snorted as the ship reached .2C. It wasn’t a matter of trust. His skill as a pilot or navigator had nothing to do with it. Kitekh wanted a short jump that would drop them into the Grakur system on the dark side of the moon Korenka. If his calculations were off by the tiniest fraction, they might not survive re-entry to normal space.

  “His piloting won’t matter if we don’t make it through the defense grid,” Rorgun said from the tactical station.

  “I’ve already told you,” Kitekh said. “Aarghun’s code should still be good.”

  “You’re putting an awful lot of faith in the Empire not anticipating he’s working for us now,” Rorgun said.

  Heat wafted up from the neck of JaQuan’s ship suit. All this uncertainty was stoking the fires of stress in his stomach. He felt like a furnace.

  “The Empire most likely doesn’t even know about me yet,” Mrahr, sitting in Cooressa’s place at the comms station.

  “We’ve been gone four days,” Rorgun countered. “That’s plenty of time for your office or those battlecruisers to signal ahead.”

  “They haven’t,” Kitekh said. “They are the same ships that ambushed us at Daxal. The captain wants to arrest us himself. We’ve embarrassed him. He won’t want any assistance in bringing us in.

  “He also doesn’t know that we have discovered the traitor aboard our ship. He thinks he can surprise us.”

  Dread crawled up from JaQuan’s stomach and sat in the front of his mind. Kitekh’s plan was wild and reckless. He checked the speedometer. The ship was at .26C.

  “Explain this defense grid to me again,” he said.

  “During our war with the Elohim and Mandra, the Tribal War Council feared enemy vessels equipped with mass drivers could jump in and bombard the planet,” Mrahr explained.

  “Mass drivers?” JaQuan asked.

  “Essentially giant rock-throwers,” Mrahr said. “The Mandra developed technology to launch large objects from orbit at a planet. If the missiles are big enough they won’t burn up in the atmosphere.”

  “Meaning you can simulate a meteor collision,” Rorgun said. “Hurl enough projectiles at the surface, and you can cause catastrophic environmental change. It is possible to destroy a planet or at least render its lifeforms extinct.”

  “And Grakur is especially susceptible to such a cataclysm,” Kitekh said as the ship reached .28C.

  “Why?” JaQuan asked.

  “It is tectonically unstable,” Mrahr answered. “Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions are common.”

  “There is only one habitable continent,” Rorgun added. “Our culture is warlike, because holding territory was critical to survival. Much like humanity, we developed space travel out of a need to find other places to live.”

  G pushed JaQuan back into his seat. The ship climbed to .285C. He wanted to vomit. This jump terrified him.

  “So what did they do to stop it?” he asked, trying to distract himself.

  “The defense grid is a series of mines that ring the planet,” Kitekh said. “There are only two safe passages in.”

  “And the mines are undetectable because they sit in hyperspace,” Rorgun said.

  The fires of dread burning in JaQuan’s guts blossomed into full-blown terror. This was worse than he’d thought.

  “And we’re flying through that?” he cried.

  “Yes,” Rorgun said.

  The ship hit .29C. They were almost there.

  “But I have a code that will render safe passage,” Mrahr said.

  “Assuming it still works,” Rorgun said, making his doubt plain.

  “It’ll work,” Kitekh said. “JaQuan open the jump point on my mark. Aarghun, get ready to transmit.”

  JaQuan tried not to panic. If Mrahr’s code, whatever it was, didn’t work, they’d be dead before JaQuan got the chance to kill them with a bad re-entry. He checked his board.

  “Speed is .298C,” he reported. “.299. .3C!”

  “All right, jump!” Kitekh said.

  Hoping he wasn’t about to kill them, JaQuan engaged the hyperdrive. A jump point opened in front of them.

  “Aarghun, begin broadcast!” Kitekh shouted as Cataan’s Claw slipped out of reality and into hyperspace.

  For half a second, nothing happened. The experience was the same as any other trip through hyperspace JaQuan had experienced.

  But then a strange humming sound echoed through the ship, like blowing across the lip of an empty bottle. It fluctuated a quarter step up and down, like the wail of a banshee.

  “What the hell is that?” JaQuan asked.

  Kitekh smiled.

  “Setting a trap like this makes the planet more defensible, because it limits the ways you can safely approach. But it also turns Grakur into a cage. If an enemy bottles up the only two passages, there would be no way to get out.

  “The Graur are better generals than to leave ourselves with no retreat. The mines detect harmonic resonance. Starships leave a signature – a trail, if you will – that the mines recognize and lock onto. However, all GDF captains and high-ranking tribal personnel are given a code that allows them to program their scanners to send a false signal. Essentially, if you have a code, you can change your ship’s harmonic resonance to fool the mines.”

  JaQuan flicked his eyes around the bridge. All around him, the bulkheads whistled their strange song.

  “How do we know if it works?” he asked.

  “If we aren’t blown to singularities,” Rorgun said.

  “The code to send the signal wouldn’t work if it had been deactivated,” Mrahr said.

  “Meaning we wouldn’t be hearing . . . whatever that is?” JaQuan said.

  “No, actually,” Kitekh said. “We can always send a signal to put out a
different harmonic resonance. The science is difficult but not impossible to master.

  “Aarghun’s code, if it is genuine, will alter our signature to the correct resonance to fool the mines.”

  “So Rorgun’s right,” JaQuan said. “We won’t know if it worked until we make it safely to the other side.”

  No one said anything. JaQuan hung his head.

  “Shit, Kitekh,” he said. “This is some fucking shit, this is.”

  “Just be ready to re-enter normal space on time,” she said.

  JaQuan stared at his board. His mouth had gone dry. He tried to swallow and couldn’t.

  “Re-entry in seven seconds,” he croaked.

  No one dared to speak. The spectral melody was the only sound. It sang like a ghost haunting an old house. Every scary movie JaQuan had ever seen ran through his head, quickening his pulse. Palpable dread squeezed his heart.

  “Three seconds,” he reported as the jump point approached. “Two . . . one!”

  He keyed off the hyperdrive, flinging them back into normal space.

  Alarms started screaming instantly. Korenka appeared on his scope, coming up fast.

  “Shit! Hang on!” JaQuan shouted.

  He tapped controls to fire the maneuvering thrusters and yanked the stick to the left. That set off another series of klaxons, and the bulkheads groaned loudly in protest.

  “Hull integrity down to sixty-two percent,” Mrahr shouted.

  “Rorgun, get me some fucking help with the deflector screens!” JaQuan said.

  “JaQuan, we’re coming in too fast,” Kitekh said. “Hit the brakes!”

  He did his best to comply. He fired the retro-thrusters at full burn, trying to halt their progress towards the moon. Cataan’s Claw whined and creaked, threatening to break apart.

  “Hull breaches in sectors one and seven,” Mrahr reported. “Hull integrity at fifty-four percent.”

  “Deflector screens activated, but I’m not sure they’re helping,” Rorgun said.

  JaQuan wasn’t sure what to do. They were coming in too hot at a bad angle. If he didn’t brake and veer away from the moon, they would crash. But if he did what was necessary, he might tear the ship apart.

  Another alarm sounded, warning him they had entered Korenka’s gravity well. Shit, that was going to put more stress on the hull.

  JaQuan continued to brake hard and pull the ship to port, hoping to avoid being sucked down. A loud whine followed by a frightening clang told him it wasn’t going to work. If he didn’t do something now, Cataan’s Claw would break up over Korenka.

  “Two more hull breaches!” Mrahr shouted. “Hull integrity at forty-six percent!”

  “Okay, hold on tight,” JaQuan said. “We’re going down.”

  “What!” Kitekh said.

  He ignored her. There was no time to explain his plan; he needed all his focus to keep them alive.

  Cutting power to the maneuvering thrusters, he let the moon pull them down. Hopefully, giving up on fighting Korenka’s gravitational pull would keep Cataan’s Claw in one piece.

  Next, he laid off the brakes and concentrated on pulling up. The ship was down to .12C – still too fast but much more manageable.

  “JaQuan, Korenka has no atmosphere to slow us down,” Kitekh said. “Brake!”

  He wished she’d stop shouting at him. It was all he could do to fly the ship. Sweat broke out all over him. His body roared with heat, making it hard to focus.

  Alarms screeched through the bridge as Korenka’s surface raced towards them. JaQuan pulled back on the stick and increased power to the braking thrusters.

  “Come on,” he muttered. “Pull up, you bitch.”

  “Impact with lunar surface in ten seconds,” Rorgun said.

  JaQuan pulled the stick back as far as he could. Their speed dropped. Their nose rose.

  But they were still on an impact trajectory.

  He didn’t know what else to do. He had the braking thrusters at full. He was pulling up with everything he had.

  “Impact in five seconds,” Rorgun said.

  “JaQuan . . .” Kitekh prodded.

  “Three seconds,” Rorgun said. “Two seconds . . . one second!”

  JaQuan got the nose up over the surface. The bottom of the ship scraped along the rocky terrain. He fired the main thrusters while continuing to pull back as hard as he could.

  Cataan’s Claw skipped off the ground as more alarms sounded. JaQuan fought to get her nose up higher, so she could take off.

  She skimmed the surface, then landed roughly again. Still he gave her thrust. Grinding against the stony, she threatened to come apart before popping back up into the air.

  Battling the controls, JaQuan fired the underbelly thrusters. Only three of them responded. The remainder were offline, no doubt damaged or destroyed in one of the impacts.

  Cataan’s Claw wobbled vaguely upward. As soon as her nose was pointed away from the lunar floor, he kicked in the main thrusters again.

  Seconds later, she was in a low-altitude orbit and more or less under control. JaQuan sighed and turned to Kitekh.

  “Okay, I’ve stabilized us,” he said. “We’re not gonna crash right away, but we’re also not going anywhere without extensive repairs.”

  “Hull integrity is at thirty-eight percent,” Mrahr said. “We’ve got breaches everywhere.”

  “And five of the eight underside thrusters are out,” JaQuan said. “We’re fucked up pretty bad, Kitekh.”

  The Graur captain seemed unperturbed by the damage reports. She clicked the intercom.

  “Is everyone all right?” she asked.

  “Define ‘all right,’” Alan responded.

  “Is anyone dead or injured?” she asked.

  “Alan and I are unharmed,” Rischa said.

  “Physically, at least,” Alan added.

  “Both the prisoners and I are also okay,” Shinzaa reported.

  “Lanaliel?” Kitekh said.

  The chief engineer didn’t respond. Kitekh waited three seconds.

  “Lanaliel!” she barked.

  “As our friend JaQuan might put it,” Lanaliel said, his voice weak. “I’ve been in better shape.”

  Oh, fuck, JaQuan thought. Please be okay.

  “What?” Kitekh said. “What’s the matter?”

  There was another pause. JaQuan didn’t dare to breathe until his friend spoke again.

  “There is a large piece of metal embedded in my thigh,” Lanaliel answered at last. “I believe it is from the hyperdrive. I also have lost part of my left horn.”

  JaQuan winced. He hadn’t been good enough. Not only was the ship wrecked – probably beyond repair – he’d fucked up his best friend aboard.

  “Shinzaa, get over to engineering right away,” Kitekh said. “See what can be done.”

  “On my way,” she replied.

  “You too, Aarghun,” Kitekh said. “Shinzaa may need help.

  Mrahr unclipped himself from his station, rose, and departed.

  “Rischa, is the lander okay?” Kitekh asked.

  “It seems to be from what I can see,” she reported. “But I’ll need to look it over more carefully.”

  “You and Alan get on that immediately,” Kitekh ordered. “I want her prepped and ready to launch as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Kitekh switched off the intercom. She turned to JaQuan.

  “Good work,” she said.

  “How do you figure that?” he said, still feeling like shit for hurting Lanaliel.

  “We’re alive,” Kitekh replied. “As long as we’re alive, we can keep fighting.”

  JaQuan shook his head. Kitekh was crazy.

  He ran diagnostics on the drive system. Four of the five offline thrusters were destroyed. The hyperdrive was down, and given that Lanaliel had said he had a piece of it embedded in his thigh, JaQuan figured it was irreparable as well.

  They’d made it to the dark side of Korenka like Kitekh had wanted. But the
y were effectively dead in space. Cataan’s Claw had seen her last voyage.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Now we load the last of our supplies onto the lander and get the hell out of here,” Kitekh said.

  He shrugged. He supposed she was right. They’d always planned to abandon ship, although the original idea was to keep it hidden behind Korenka, so they would have a means to get out of the system if things didn’t work out.

  “Kitekh,” he said. “The ship is wrecked. We won’t be able to come back.”

  For the first time, she looked somber. JaQuan wasn’t sure how long she’d been captaining this particular vessel. He felt guilty about destroying it.

  “It’s just as well,” she said. “Everyone in the galaxy is looking for this ship. We need a new one, no matter what happens on Grakur.”

  JaQuan nodded. He supposed that was true.

  “Come on,” she said, unclipping her harness. “There’s no time for sentimentality. We need to finish our work here, so we can make it to the Tribal Council before the Imperials arrive.”

  She stood and moved towards the hatch. JaQuan exchanged a look with Rorgun. The first mate seemed to share JaQuan’s concern. But neither of them knew what to do.

  Rorgun moved first, powering down his board and getting up. JaQuan unstrapped himself and followed.

  Assuming he hadn’t destroyed the lander, they at least had a way off their dead ship. But after that, there were no guarantees. It was hard to believe that, once they reached Grakur, there would be any escape from the deathtrap Brody and Cooressa had made for them.

  Idrib held out his arms as the attendants laid the grand cloak for his coronation over him. He beheld himself in the mirror. The silver gown embroidered with the seal of the Empire across the chest flowed down him, sweeping the floor. The blue cloak with gold stitching woven throughout attested to his grandeur. His silver hair was pulled back in an elegant ponytail, held by a golden clasp, also with the seal of the Empire.

  Soon the bejeweled necklace of the Emperor would adorn his neck, completing the picture of august majesty. Truly, God had blessed him.

  “Are you ready?” Emello asked.

  “I have been ready for years,” he replied. “God himself ordained this day. He put me on this path so that his will could be done.”